#cassianrebel

[palindroned]

[dasakuryo]

♡ Cassian Andor Prompthaton ♡ Prompt: The first time Cassian saw a Clone Trooper vs the first time he saw a Stormtrooper

He has seen the ships, massive grey breaking through the white gentle shroud of Festian skies, towering above the mountains. The first time they broke through the clouds, mamá rushed him inside and forbid him to go outside until it was safe. Cassian did as he was told, because he is a good boy and mamá’s face still wore the pain of papá’s absence. Cassian did not want to upset her. He had nodded and hugged her legs tight.

She was convinced, as well as Cassian had, the Confederacy forces would be able to drive the Republic Army off Fest. They were wrong. Outside isn’t safe anymore. Not when the Republic trudges and trudges and gains inch after inch of Festian snow under their boots. Each and every single town and city is now at risk of being taken over by their army-

By those figures dressed in white duraplast.

Sleepless nights have found their way under his mum’s eyes, worry has carved its path into her brow and by her mouth. She insists everything is all right —that she is all right— whenever she catches him staring at her. Cassian guesses the slightly trembling lip and fidgety fingers give him away. Despite the smile that always curls up the corners of her mouth, despite the familiar creases of joy on her face Cassian has learnt to miss more and more, he knows the words that spill from her mouth are far from true—

The way she eyes the distant mountains every morning is different now. Curtains drawn, his mum’s gaze grows cloudier with every passing day. The massive grey ships are there. Behind the walls that not so long ago Cassian thought protected the valley, but which now look more like a rock-built cage.

Spring is nearing. And he knows, mama knows, that something more than melted glacier water will come down the mountainside. He has heard the hushed whispers from his vantage point by the fire, curled up in the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket and making his breathing deep and even, those rare times mamá’s friends show up for dinner.

They’ve been coming over more and more these days.

“We don’t know if the rumors are true—”

“We need to know what we’re up against!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

If mamá finds out about this, Cassian will probably never hear the end of it. But as long as he is careful, there is no reason why she should. And with snow biting at his face, Cassian climbs up the last bit of the mountain. The howling wind carries the distant shouts, its cadence uneven, changing. Cassian ducks down and trudges carefully, never stepping outside the safe enclosure of vegetation and piled snow. The voices grow louder and clearer as the soil crunches under his boots.

Swirls of smoke dance in the wind, rising from behind a hill and thick rows of trees. Cassian bites his lip, squinting, but he can make out no figures at all. He watches out for hidden rocks as he steps closer, his breath quickening when he takes in a new alien rhythmic sound. A sound he has only heard when Confederacy droid forces walked down the streets.

His throat tightens. Mamá’s worried face flickers through his mind and he wonders if he should turn around while he can, while they haven’t spotted him yet. He finds himself putting one foot in front of the other in spite of his quickening heartbeat pounding in his ears. The static-distorted voices stream into recognizable words by the time he peers through the branches.

One of the armoured figures reaches for his helmet and takes it off. He turns, glancing in Cassian’s direction. The boy freezes, breath caught in his throat, gloved fingers curling into his palm—

The face staring back at him his human. The man opens his mouth and laughs. A contagious laugh. It makes a shiver run down his spine all the same. Instinctively, takes a step backwards.

There are no rushed steps, no orders to seize the child spying from behind the trees— He puffs, relieved. The sudden fear dwindles, warmth rushing back to him. He hadn’t expected them to be— to be like this.

His eyes screw up a bit, as he glances up, trying to see beyond, behind them. He shuffles backwards, the familiar cold snow of his homeworld shields him, hiding him from the prying eyes of these men that have never trudged over the pristine Festian mantle—

If it weren’t for the ships or the bright colours the soldiers sport on their amours, Cassian will not have realised how many of them were out there—camouflaging themselves amidst the snow.

The wind raises goosebumps on his neck. On his face. And an unexpected alien coldness wraps tight in his chest. Almost smothering. The same man from before laughs again. Others join in. His throat tightens. He had always pictured the enemy as someone, something he wouldn’t not be able to recognise. Yet, they strike too close to home. They seem to familiar. And in his childhood innocence, his naivety that has not yet been maimed by the cruelties of reality, Cassian can’t wrap his mind around why they are doing this—

Why are they here? To claim their home?

(Years later, he will understand the shades of grey. Years later, he will learn the figures that flared anger up inside him til his every fibre of his body boiled hot with rage had been used and enslaved for the Republic’s selfish and greedy purposes.)

He rushes back home. The man’s laugh still rings in his ears when the door to his home wooshes open to a worried-sick mother.

It could be argued he has seen Stormtroopers long before this moment. But neither they were nor they were called Stormtroopers, per se. Not quite. Not exactly. There is a resemblance, a striking similarity. But few of these men are like those who landed on Fest years ago.These are Imperial forces, hammering down on Festians with all their might.

He watches the small squad patrol walk down the street below and his jaw clenches. His hands grip the blaster tightly.

They stroll past him… As if they owned the place.

Flags with the Empire’s symbol flap in the cold Festian wind. They wave were proud Festian colours used to dance in the wind. But things have changed. Now all is shrouded in those of the Empire’s, black and white. Sometimes grey.

His town and all of Fest have turned dull. Pale. Lifeless. The phrik factories had been breathing heavy grey smoke into the sky for too many years now. In time, the Empire got to claim even the pristine snow of Fest. It’s grey underneath Cassian’s feet.

Grey. Clouded like the eyes of those that used to shine bright with hope, with future, a handful of years ago. Cassian remembers how the darkness seeped its way in… Once the trudge of durasteel on snow turned to trudge of boots. Once people took the streets and painted color back into them with resistance. Once doors were open in the middle of the night and screams broke the stillness. Once people disappeared to never be heard of again. Once mamá, too, vanished into the now greyness of Fest.

His eyes stings and he bites his lip down hard. His childhood home will remain silent with no singsonging waking him up, the kitchen will remain lifeless with all the spices on its shelves, waiting for an expert hand that will never grab them again, the hearth will remain dark and no mellow light will ever spread to the worn colorful rug again, no stories will be told nor sung by the fire.

The Stormtroopers walk past him again.

Black and white.

Something shatters inside him when he tries to reclaim what was stolen. His caged rage brings colour back to where it was washed away. Flashes of blue and red spills on trodden snow.

And as he sprints down off the roof and slithers into a hidden passage carved into Festian ice, the knowledge of the inevitable runs a crack deep inside him.

These Stormtroopers won’t be the last.

[thefulcrumcaptain]

Fulcrum Fridays – Prompt #8: Recruitment

Other than the day’s theme, there are no further constraints to interpret the prompt (be sure to check the FAQ and Prompt Theme Guideline if needed).

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[thereigning-lorelai]

cassian andor + tropes

[lj-writes]

Does anyone else get a lot of feels about Cassian as a child throwing rocks and bottles at Republic tanks and soldiers? His father peacefully protested the Republic’s militarism and look what they did to him. Can you imagine that angry, hurt child flinging rocks because he had nothing else, maybe delivering messages and carrying supplies for the Separatists because he could hide better in the rubble and was less suspicious than a grownup or older kid?

In our world children have been shot for throwing rocks at occupying forces. Did Cassian watch kids, kids he knew from his neighborhood being killed? Did he run away and hide, too scared to even cry, still clutching his rock and wishing it were a blaster, or a bomb?

By the time he was seven the Clone Wars ended and the Republic was replaced by the Empire. His enmity simply transferred to the Empire, a logical if extreme continuation of what the Republic had become.

Yet even in the Rebellion it was the Senators who called the shots, the Senators who told him to get blood on his hands, grinding him down to be harder and sharper until he hardly felt like a person. Even the name was cruel; the Allience to Restore the Republic. To restore what? Repression and destruction, children dying in the streets? The Senators promised things would be different this time, but that’s what they promised the first time around.

Did he think about taking up arms against the Republic, too, giving them more than rocks and bottles if the Alliance won and the demands of the downtrodden were not met? Did he think to live that long?

Perhaps his victory lay in this small, hard fact: The Senators might have had his life, but his death was his own. It wasn’t some Senator or General who told him to go to Scarif, he went against direct orders for the conscience he found still beating in him, for the wisp of a hope that he could protect other children from the fires of annihilation.

So Cassian Jeron Andor went to Scarif a free man, though freedom demanded an unfairly high price. He had known that already, though, from the moment his father’s lifeless body came home. Freedom was a mean, demanding bitch and he reached out and grasped her with both hands. He died in that embrace; it was all the choice he had in a broken universe.

[thestarbirdfromtheashes]

Good question, Jyn.

[eviloneills-blog]

So there are Saints of the Force??? How do saints work, in the Star Wars universe, exactly? 

The real question being, of course, how is Cassian canonized after the events of Rogue One?

[thefulcrumcaptain]

Hi all, don’t forget the Cassian Appreciation Week is taking place from the 23rd to the 29th of July. Mark your calendars! Info about the week and its themes will be revealed on the 1st of June, date on which promo will start as well.

[inkfan724]

In this house hold we stan cassian.

My cassian andor pop came in today and it’s adorable. Even my mom loves it

Yeeeeeeesssssss.

[castiellover77]

Love that Cassian Andor is finally getting his due and I can’t wait for his show😍 the bigger picture of him is awesome 👏🏼

[thereigning-lorelai]

the floods is threat'ning my very life today gimme, gimme shelter or i'm gonna fade away

[lj-writes]

It never sits right with me that Cassian is called a former Separatist. Cassian, as @attackfish pointed out, was born 26 BBY and was at most seven years old when the Clone Wars were over and the Separatists were officially defeated in 19 BBY.

I mean, child Cassian may have thrown rocks and bottles at the Republic military, maybe even tagged along with Separatists to give what help he could, but that alone does not make him an insurgent. It is factually, morally, militarily, legally, and humanly wrong to call a child a combatant when he was being a kid in a community under attack. That’s the kind of rhetoric that gets children murdered.

Flip the script, though. What if this was a story that Cassian spread about himself? What if he himself claimed to have been a Separatist and the story spread? What would he gain from telling such a lie or, at the very least, gross exaggeration?

Well, there’s an element of fear and respect, of course. Maybe his enemies would think twice before tangling with a battle-hardened insurgent. Maybe he wanted his comrades to take him seriously. Maybe he wanted to get into the Rebellion and forged his credentials. (”Oh hey, I used to kill Republic soldiers. Can I get in on this Alliance to Restore the Republic action?”)

You know what I think, though? I think he originally made up that story to lie about his age.

Imagine Cassian at fourteen or fifteen, with nothing more to lose and nothing left for him at home except ruins and grief. He wants to join the Rebels but they’re like, hey um, there’s a little problem. You’re underage, come back when you’re old enough to drink kthxbye

And Cassian, rubbing at a moustache that is totally not makeup and speaking in a falsetto baritone that is totally his natural speaking voice, tells them: HOW DARE U I’M NOT A KID I’M TWENTY-FIVE. I USED TO BE A DANGEROUS SEPARATIST AND I’VE KILLED CLONE TROOPERS FOR LESSER INSULTS IS THIS BECAUSE OF MY HEIGHT I’M SUING FOR EMPLOYMENT DISCRIMINATION

And the Rebel recruitment officer is like... okay...? It’s not like they can pull records to check anyway, even if the records from Separatist planets were all intact.

So young Cassian joins the Alliance, head held high, and the story spreads and becomes part of his mystique. Sure it might not match with some of his other biographical details and his close friends might know it’s bullshit, but the story was useful on multiple levels and he didn’t bother denying it when people asked.

[thestarbirdfromtheashes]

*snickers*

[rapidashrider]

O-oh m,m,my god... so precious??

Smol!Cassian got a new toy for his birthday

@tekayf

[motherofangst]

insp.

[dasakuryo]

Title:  For The Children of Tomorrow Fandom:  Rogue One: A Star Wars Story Characters/Pairings:  Cassian Andor, Leia Organa, Bail Organa (mentioned), Breha Organa (mentioned), K-2SO. Rating:  T | PG-13  Prompt: Cassian gets to see his intelligence work make an immediate small-scale change in someone’s life for the better (as a counter-point to big-picture intel work) [for @thefulcrumcaptain ‘s Cassian Andor Promptathon).

***

Cassian stops short as soon as he steps inside Intelligence. He barely manages to mask his surprise with a respectful bow of his head when his gaze meets the young woman's. Curiosity flashes across her features, a gentle twist in her brow glimmering under the mellow yellow halo-light. "Your Highness," his voice strikes a respectful hushed tone. Leia Organa cracks a smile as he steps closer. He meant to contact a handful of his informants scattered across the Outer Rim, the safe channel there considerably more secure than the one Kay had set on his U-Wing. Yet, and the thought brings a slight crease between his eyebrows, it is something he'd better do while alone. It's not like he can demand the Princess to leave. Technically, she is his superior, after all. Things might have been different, had Draven been in there. But he is not, and Cassian will have to delay his rest longer than he had anticipated. "Captain Andor," the young girl acknowledges him with another bow as he reaches the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the way her gaze lingers on his face. He remains silent, eyes scanning down the file on his data-pad, waiting for her to add whatever seems to be on her mind. The silence stretches between them. An insistent tapping breaks it, and a swift glance to his left awards him the image of Leia biting on her lower lip, the hand by the projector controls twitching and slowly curling into a fist. "Is there a way I might be of assistance, m' lady?" he says, gazing up from the screen. The rhythmic sound stops. She locks eyes with him, letting out a long sigh. "Perhaps, captain." "What is it that you need?" She lowers her gaze and bites down on her lip again. Harder. She wrings her hands this time. "I am looking for a file, but I can't seem to find it," she eventually lets out, almost blabbering.  She evades his gaze again, focusing on the gleaming screen before her. Cassian pushes down the frown yanking at his face. Something is off and he can't quite put his finger on it. Not yet. He clears his throat and ambles closer, paying attention to the letters flickering before them. A rush of an emotion he can't quite define hits him. It takes the air out of his lungs and he has to take a deep breath to steady his suddenly racing heartbeat. Those are... names of classified files the princess is trying to access to. There's a reason why she can't find what she is looking for. Moments like this are when Cassian is left walking a treacherous dangerous line. As an intelligence officer, he should be able to assert the boundaries and be able to send her away empty handed. As a rebel, her being the daughter of a Rebellion founder and general that surpasses him in rank, he can't simply wave her away that easily. "You will have to consult with Senator Organa, your Highness," he finally settles for a more diplomatic approach. "I am at not at liberty to provide you with classified information if he does not allow if beforehand, Miss, I hope you can understand." There is a twitch to her lips and a gleam to her eyes. "Naturally—" she trails off and her mouth twists to the side. "I was just hoping to locate more children." The unspoken question weighs heavy in his chest. "Children, your Highness?" He is not aware of any ongoing Intelligence mission that entailed such a task. Leia flashes him a smile. "Yes. Children, captain," she says, an air of pride to her voice when she tilts her chin up. "Your recent intel allowed our Pathfinder squads to take over Imperial facilities throughout Atrivis sector. Underground Imperial detention facilities."

Children. Taken for being suspected of subversion and allegiance to rebel cells. Abducted together with their families suspected of dissidence and treason to the empire. Children kidnapped to use as leverage. Children born while their mothers were in detention.  Realization dawns on him like a warm stream meandering down his chest. He tries to say something in return, but his mouth is as dry as Tatooine's desert and the words get stuck at the back of his throat. The scene he witnessed earlier that day, the Mantoonian woman crying tears of happiness and her voice melting into words of gratitude to Mon Mothma and Senator Organa flickers through his mind. Relief unclenches a knot deep in his heart he doesn't quite remember being there.        "I will never— How could I ever repay you?"        "There is no need. Knowing that another family hasn't been torn apart by this war is enough." "I was hoping an in-depth look to your intelligence findings and other reports would allow me to tie loose ends," Leia lets the smile spread across her face. Warm. Sincere, "and figure out where more of this children may have been sent." There is something in the tone of her voice, in they way her hair catches the light, in how she stands there clad in white robes that strikes him as ethereal. Almost lulling in the magic of the image. As if he can allow himself to believe such a thing is possible —achievable— after all the things this war has robbed the galaxy off. "It will be my pleasure to assist you, your Highness." There is a new glimmer to her eyes when he speaks. "I'll see what I can find in the archives that might be of use, and provide you with a copy as soon as I am allowed to." She raises an eyebrow. "I hope you understand I'll have to inform General Draven and Senator Organa about this," he licks his lips, "enterprise of yours beforehand." She nods. Cassian knows the only reticence to follow through with the matter might come from Draven, but not Organa. Cassian does not doubt that as soon as her daughter plans reach Queen Breha's ears, she will be providing the Rebellion with any and every mean at her disposal to locate and relocate the children and their mothers safely. Away from imperial claws. "Naturally." He bows his head again and she answers doing a small curtsy, before shuffling to the door. She hands him her data-pad as she walks past.

"What is it, Kay?" he asks under his breath, around a grumble. He can practically feel the droid's photoreceptors glued to his every move. "There is an inconsistency." The droid provides, whirring.

"How so?" Cassian mumbles, eyeing the controls. It won't be long now, they will be jumping out of hyperspace soon. "With my records." The droid whirs again and it strikes Cassian as a frustrated huff. "Your heart rate is unusually slow on the eve of an undercover mission to an imperial facility." The laughter almost burns his throat. Of course Kay will be worried he's not exhibiting his usual caged anxiety-driven mannerisms. He guesses trying to predict the chance of this anomaly having a dangerous consequence on the mission's outcome and —most importantly— Cassian's well-being during said mission. "This is a different undercover mission, Kay." Cassian reminds him. The silence drags on for a few seconds. Cassian can practically see Kay gears moving and whirring, until he finishes his predictions and diagnostic and the answer presents itself to him. "Is the prospect of rescuing sentient children more rewarding then?" He asks, but by the cadence of the answer Cassian knows it is not really a question. "It makes you happy," the droid declares with a finality that makes something tug inside Cassian's chest, "unlike other undercover missions." "It makes me hopeful," Cassian feels the need to clarify. Even if Kay is partly right in his assessment.

"Hopeful?"

"For the future, Kay." Cassian says, hope spreading warm and fluttering quick behind his ribs. "For the future."